Dear brothers and sisters,
We’ve all been there—standing at Mass, reciting the Our Father, maybe thinking about what’s next in the liturgy or what’s waiting for us after church. We say the words… but do we pray them?
Maybe today, the Seventeenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, we can try something different.
Let me begin with a story that’s funny at first—but also surprisingly insightful: A young boy named Benjamin desperately wanted a baby sister, so he wrote God a letter: “Dear God, I’ve been a very good boy…” But he paused, unsure. That wasn’t exactly true. He started again: “Dear God, most of the time I’ve been good…” Still not convincing enough. So he came up with a new strategy: he gently took the family’s statue of the Blessed Virgin, wrapped her in a towel, placed her in a drawer, and wrote: “Dear God, if you ever want to see your mother again…”
It’s an outrageous move, but one that might reflect more truth than we think. Benjamin believed someone was really listening. He believed prayer was personal. And in his childlike way, he understood something we sometimes forget—that we can approach God boldly, honestly, and persistently, because He is our Father.
That’s exactly what Jesus teaches us in this Sunday’s Gospel, when the disciples ask, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Jesus responds by giving them a prayer many of us know by heart: the Our Father. However, just because we know it doesn’t mean we always think about it. We often rush through it—at Mass, before meals, or as part of a routine—without realizing what we’re truly saying. The Our Father is not just a prayer to recite. It’s a spiritual roadmap. A lifeline. A call to relationship.
It begins with God—His name, His kingdom, His will. And then it moves to us—our need for daily sustenance, our need for forgiveness, and our need for strength and protection. In this simple structure, the Lord’s Prayer teaches us how to desire rightly. It helps us order our lives. As St. Thomas Aquinas said, it’s the “most perfect of prayers”—because it shows us not only what to ask for, but the order in which we should desire it.
Let us not miss the power of that first word: Our. Not “my” Father. Our Father. The prayer reminds us that we are part of a family—God’s family. When we say the Lord’s Prayer, we are praying not just for ourselves, but for each other. That’s what makes it so fitting that this Gospel is paired with the first reading from Genesis, where Abraham pleads with God not for himself, but for the sake of others. And the Gospel parable that follows—about the persistent friend knocking at midnight—is also about intercession. Prayer isn’t just about me. It’s about us.
So, dear brothers and sisters, what if, today, you made a choice to slow down and really pay attention during the Lord’s Prayer at Mass? What if you meant every word?
When you say “hallowed be Thy name,” do you long for God to be honored in your life?
When you ask for daily bread, are you trusting Him with both your groceries and your soul?
When you ask for forgiveness, are you also ready to forgive that person who’s still on your mind?
When you pray “deliver us from evil,” are you remembering that the battle isn’t just “out there” in the world—but sometimes right within our own hearts?
The Our Father isn’t a magic formula—it’s a way of seeing the world and living in it. It reorients us toward trust, humility, intercession, and surrender.
If you’re married, consider praying the Our Father together with your spouse—perhaps even once a day. You’ll be amazed at how much strength that simple act can bring to your relationship. As St. John Paul II wisely said, “A family that prays together stays together.” Prayer nurtures the bond between husband and wife and strengthens the foundation of family life.
“Lord, teach us to pray,” the disciples asked. And He did. Now, let’s ask for the grace to truly pray what we’ve been given— Not just with our lips, but with our lives.
Yours in Christ,
Msgr. Cuong M. Pham